


The Captain and the Scholar

by VvardenfellVixen



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer (Elder Scrolls), Characters Who Need To Free Themselves, Elf Slash Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Markarth (Elder Scrolls), Repressed Emotions, Romance, Self indulgence, Slash, Thalmor (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Thalmor Being Assholes (Elder Scrolls), Will Add More When Story Develops, Wizards, i really like this ship, just for fun, self exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VvardenfellVixen/pseuds/VvardenfellVixen
Summary: It's a ship that's been itching me for awhile. It's kind of a relationship that really shouldn't happen because I really don't think Aicantar and Ondolemar vibe on a spiritual level, but it happens. A pleasant, yet toxic relationship, if that makes sense. This is canon to my other writings as well. I intend to keep it short. I AM working on the others still, and I WILL finish them. I don't want to leave anyone hanging. I know how depressing it is to find a good fic and find out its never going to be finished. Serious things have been going on in real life lately and not really allowing for creativity or the will to write. I am very close to finishing The Princess and the Merc, which seems to be my most popular, then I will begin to post part 3 which I have a significant amount written. My Aicantar and Calcelmo backstory headcanon is still on the table. I just needed to get this one out of my system until I can get back on track with my main fic. I also keep getting distracted by drawing my characters before anyone has any context so they're just out there floating around. I will begin to include links to art in my notes as well, which I will also add to older works, so keep an eye out for edits. I do have one ready to go for this one too. Anyway, enough of my babbling. Please enjoy!
Relationships: Aicantar/Ondolemar (Elder Scrolls), Calcelmo/Faleen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a ship that's been itching me for awhile. It's kind of a relationship that really shouldn't happen because I really don't think Aicantar and Ondolemar vibe on a spiritual level, but it happens. A pleasant, yet toxic relationship, if that makes sense. This is canon to my other writings as well. I intend to keep it short. I AM working on the others still, and I WILL finish them. I don't want to leave anyone hanging. I know how depressing it is to find a good fic and find out its never going to be finished. Serious things have been going on in real life lately and not really allowing for creativity or the will to write. I am very close to finishing The Princess and the Merc, which seems to be my most popular, then I will begin to post part 3 which I have a significant amount written. My Aicantar and Calcelmo backstory headcanon is still on the table. I just needed to get this one out of my system until I can get back on track with my main fic. I also keep getting distracted by drawing my characters before anyone has any context so they're just out there floating around. I will begin to include links to art in my notes as well, which I will also add to older works, so keep an eye out for edits. I do have one ready to go for this one too. Anyway, enough of my babbling. Please enjoy!

Calcelmo had been speaking for quite some time before he noticed his nephew wasn't paying attention. Then he realized just what the young elf was gawking at. In the near distance stood Ondolemar, the tall and stalwart Captain of the Thalmor regime in Markarth.  
  
"Oh divines' sakes, Aicantar! Really?"  
  
Aicantar jumped so abruptly his hood slid away from his satiny golden locks, face burning bright with embarrassment. He couldn't even deny it.  
  
Calcelmo sighed heavily, shaking his head with his palm to his brow. "Of all people, Aicantar. I understand he's quite dashing, but he's with the Thalmor."  
  
"Not just with the Thalmor. He's the Captain," he corrected smartly with a smirk.  
  
The elder elf groaned. "I just...I just don't want to see you hurt. Besides...you know how traditional Altmer feel about...well..." The old wizard's own cheeks glowed peach.  
  
The younger of the two High Elves laughed warmly. "It's not a dirty word, Uncle Calcelmo. You can say 'homosexuality.'"  
  
It wasn't that Calcelmo was intolerant. He loved and supported his nephew always and knew he couldn't be changed. He knew he was being silly, even after all those years of putting up with his nephew's lovers, but it rang true what he said about Altmer and their discomfort, even for him. "I just can't bear to see your heart broken again after that last ordeal, my boy. There's more to a person than just looks. And it's most likely he won't be interested anyway, _especially_ a mer of his status. He has a reputation to uphold. Not that anyone in Skyrim would care about something like that."  
  
Aicantar pursed his bronze lips. "I don't know. There's just something different about him."  
  
Calcelmo rolled his amber eyes in annoyance. "You're infatuated. Nothing more. You're letting those honeyed words get the better of you."  
  
His young nephew rolled his shoulders back to stretch and they popped grotesquely. "He's been very polite to us, Uncle Calcelmo. I don't think he's putting on a front."  
  
"Well no," he agreed. "Not to us because we are of the same kind. Just think of those poor Talos worshippers he's imprisoned, tortured, and killed to earn his rank and maybe you'll see reason. It's all I can do, but I can't stop you."  
  
Calcelmo was right, of course. The Aldmeri Dominion were the closest thing to legally sanctioned evil as you could get. Yet dreamy Aicantar with his big heart always saw the best in others. Ondolemar was no exception. With both of them working within Understone Keep, it was difficult not to cross paths with the captain.  
  
And one day, while in a rush to deliver a document from the laboratory to Jarl Igmund, he'd tripped over one of his dogs lying in the walking path in the court. By sheer happenstance, Ondolemar had been there to catch him as he plummeted, cursing that stupid dog. He knew in his heart of hearts it was wrong, but the feel of the cool, hard leather of Ondolemar's uniform against his skin and the subtle squeak as the captain moved caught him off guard, and he found himself staring into those poisonous green eyes. The points of Aicantar's long elven ears burned, his cheeks ignited, and the rest of his body felt like it would melt swaddled by the heavy, military-tough arms of the elf before him.  
  
"That damned dog again," he spat. "Not to worry. I stumbled over him myself just yesterday." Ondolemar's speech pattern was as crisp and pristine as his attire.  
  
Aicantar strived for words, enamored by those strong arms and his darkly lined toxic stare. "Oh um...t-hank you."  
  
"Your uncle is working you to death again, I see," he said as he helped him back to his feet, shooing the clumsy wolfhound away with malice.  
  
It proved to be a solid observation, as Calcelmo did tend to overdo everything, but Aicantar didn't have anything to say in response.  
  
"Have a good day then," Ondolemar chimed and patrolled away in his original direction and his boots clacked and resounded on the mighty stone walls of Understone Keep. Aicantar finally came to his senses after the captain rounded the corner out of his sight. He shook his head and inhaled with vexation at himself. "Damn me! Damn me to Oblivion!" Of course it was wrong to feel such things for someone like Ondolemar, but it was already far too late; he was hooked. His uncle was probably right about barking up the wrong tree, but after feeling him against his body, he just had to try. Besides, it's far easier to be let down under such circumstances. No chance meant just that, and Aicantar respected it, though it was a feeling that seemed so mundane to him it was difficult to fathom that his crush was out of the ordinary to some. Most of Tamriel believed that love was love and Mara knew exactly what she was doing for the body is a mere vessel for the soul.  
  
It was deeper than that, for Summerset born Altmer believed in purity and passing on superior genes to their offspring. At least some of them felt that way. The rest (meaning the lower class) could behave like real people most of the time, however still repressed. When Calcelmo told him that, Aicantar was as puzzled as could be, for it came to him just as naturally as anything and he was never treated any differently for it, one of a multitude of reasons they had moved away from the Summerset Isles. The old wizard made sure of it, and did his best with Aicantar, especially for someone who unexpectedly had to raise a child. But he was a good and loving individual and Aicantar fortunate to be raised by him.  
  
Aicantar cast aside his mind's ramblings. "I better get this to the Jarl," muttered the young mer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Aicantar aged to around no more than 40-50 years old and this fic is set just a little after the events of Skyrim. To me that's considered a young adult in elf years (like we would be in our early 20's) So he's not quite a "boy" though lovingly referred to as such by his uncle and other much older individuals. Just to avoid any possible misunderstandings. Ondolemar is likely well over 100 given his prowess with the Thalmor.

Stars twinkled brightly above while the auroras danced like ribbons through them. The crisp winter air proved quite rewarding as Aicantar sucked it into his lungs. He didn't leave the lab often, and grew weary of old mildewy particles from the excavation and metal shavings from construction with Dwemer parts. How pathetic he felt to consider clean air a treat. "I do need to get out more," he said to himself as he ambled along the uneven stone pathway to the lower portion of the mountain city wherein the Silver-Blood Inn resided.  
  
Inside, he was surprised to see Ondolemar in plain clothes (but still sophisticated considering the tavern's usual patronage), leaned against the stone wall with his arms crossed. No, his expression wasn't that of duty this time around, rather a look of longing and loneliness. And when he tried to converse with anyone in passing they ignored him out right, even his own subordinates. Clearly “off duty” really meant off duty to them.  
  
This bothered Aicantar to no end. It wasn't like anyone in Markarth to be quite that rude, and without even a second consideration, he approached Ondolemar with his bright smile and elegant gold-green eyes squinted up with delight. "You look like you could use some company."  
  
The captain's cheeks flushed immediately, and for the first time he didn't know what he should say, but couldn't believe his desperation for friendship made itself so plain. He licked his lips nervously. "I suppose it comes with the territory of the job," he uttered softly, almost regretfully.  
  
"You can sit with me," Aicantar beamed. "Come on, have a drink with me."  
  
Why? Why was this so easy to speak to him all of a sudden? Aicantar's chest began to burn as he led Ondolemar to an empty table with a thrill.  
  
"Thank you. Your kindness knows no bounds," he gave a humble smile.  
  
Aicantar ordered his favorite wine, unbeknownst to Ondolemar he only seemed to imbibe in wine when he was celebrating something. He poured himself an unsavory portion and tipped it back in the most undainty manner as though he was drinking ice cold ale on a sweltering summer day, sighing from the burn of the liquor on his esophagus. He already felt the effects. Ondolemar, though visibly concerned, didn't comment on it.  
  
"So what do you like to do for fun?" The younger elf made an attempt to rouse conversation.  
  
"I...I don't really know." Ondolemar seemed unnaturally discomfited in this circumstance.  
  
"You don't know?" Aicantar raised a slanted blonde eyebrow, his lips curved into the least mean-spirited smirk imaginable.  
  
"I suppose I don't really have time for recreation." He poured himself his own glass of wine from the bottle, a much more sensible volume than Aicantar's. His next statement was filled with sorrow. "And I can't say I have many companions."  
  
Aicantar clicked his tongue sympathetically. "What a pity. You seem nice enough to me."  
  
The captain nearly choked on his drink. He didn't rightly know what to do with the compliment as he didn't believe it to be true himself, but he continued with his other thought. "My affiliates at the Embassy are hardly friends. Two-faced. They'd stab me in the back at any chance they could."  
  
"Let's not worry about politics then," the young elf flipped his long wheat blonde hair over his shoulder. "It seems to be bothering you. Your identity is far more intrinsic than what you do for a living, surely."  
  
It made the elder elf blush and he turned his gaze to the table, scratching nervously at his neatly shaped white goatee. Aicantar chuckled knowing full well how smooth he could be. "I can't say the same for myself though," he joked. "I live and breathe Dwemer history and technology. Well, Uncle Calcelmo is more keen on the history and anthropology, and I deal primarily with the machines. To the point where he used to call me 'Little Seht' when I was a boy." The alcohol made him more talkative already. "Liquid courage," as they say.  
  
On the other hand, Ondolemar, who was still more than sober, cocked his head with authentic intrigue. "I've always been interested in the Dwemer. Shame that growing up I was always taught it was a waste of time."  
  
"Funny... that's what they always told my uncle as well. Now look how far he's come. Simple folk tend to think the past should stay where it is, but how can we ever progress if we don't learn from our predecessors' mistakes?"  
  
It made him smile. "You're an insightful young mer."  
  
Aicantar couldn't tell if it he was nervous or intoxicated—perhaps both—but speaking with Ondolemar now like this felt exhilarating. Though he did consider the idea that his uncle would express disappointment in him, he truly believed that Ondolemar was misunderstood. He might never have even killed anyone at all and just as easily been born into the role due to wealth and status, such is the way with the elite class. That's what the young elf wanted to believe at any rate, meanwhile, those toxic green and yellow High Elf eyes bewitched him.

However, Ondolemar was not oblivious to this type of wanting gaze, and his cheeks burned hotly. “Oh! I'm so sorry! Please don't misunderstand!” He began to fidget with his long, strong fingers.

Aicantar snapped out of his stupor at once, blushing deeply himself. “I—oh, do forgive me! I think I had far too much to drink. I didn't mean to come onto you like that!”

The Thalmor captain cleared his throat, uneasy by this encounter. “It's...quite all right. I just...I don't—”

“You're a 'traditional' Altmer. I understand. Please just...forget it.” Aicantar looked down at the floor, completely humiliated by his own overbearing behavior. He should have skipped the wine this evening.

Ondolemar didn't want to hurt his feelings, “You are a kind elf, and that is rare to find. I'd be more than honored by your companionship...I just...nothing...r-romantic.” Something in the way his voice wavered expressed some sort of nuanced self doubt that Aicantar keenly caught onto igniting a spark of hope within him. The older elf simply needed time.

The younger elf tucked his hair behind his ear. “I spend so much of my time in the lab I forget how to behave sometimes. I apologize. I can't blame that on the wine. I'd be lying to say I haven't had my eye on you for some time now.” A burden at once lifted from his shoulders.

All those encounters and Ondolemar had been none the wiser. How could he have overlooked such a detail? He scratched at the back of his closely shaved head and managed a pleased smile, cheeks and sharply angled ears aflame. “That's...flattering to say the least.”

“At least I'm aware now. I can't know if I don't...ask...well I suppose I didn't exactly _ask_. I was very impolite. Let's put this far behind us. I wouldn't...well you know. Please don't avoid visiting the Dwemer Museum or the lab. I'd very much like to see you there.”

“That won't change, I promise you.”

Aicantar rose to his feet. “I'm going to go sober up. I've done enough damage for one day, I think.”

Ondolemar laughed in response. “No damage at all. Thank you for you company. I really needed someone to talk to. It was refreshing.”

“You have a lovely rest of your evening, Ondolemar. Don't let yoursef be without a friend. You know where to find me.” He supposed that was the best way he could word it without possible sexual undertones.

Even though he was wholly embarrassed, Aicantar saw this encounter as a resounding success. He knew the signs after having battled the same kind of repressed uncertainty in some of the most masculine, womanizing Nords imaginable, and was he ever thankful. Nordic and Orsimer men were some of the only ones around the province large enough to ravage him the way he enjoyed, and the mere thought of a chance with an even bigger man rattled his cage. Nords could go either way, but Orcs generally valued their traditional and cultural polygamous practices with many wives, for producing an abundance of strong offspring was held in high regard, so quite rare to find one who had broken away from that system or were raised differently. He fondly reminisced about his first kiss when he was a boy with an Orc named Sharmog. “Now calm yourself, Aicantar. Don't run before you can walk.” He stormed through the wizard's laboratory with the exact glow that Calcelmo dreaded, but he held his tongue. His nephew's business was his own.

***

Ondolemar finished the last, overly sweet sip of his beverage and sat pondering for a few moments. Aicantar was very attractive, after all, and his kindness and warm smile brightened every room, his presence astounded him. The captain bit his lip. It had been a considerably long time since he'd felt anything like he was feeling in that moment since Aicantar showed a blatant interest in him. Yet he still suffered a significant amount of guilt and shame. Everyone he knew would be disgusted with him. Every tingling thought made his back ache...remembering the lashings he'd received long ago. It was an abomination. It was wrong. He'd best forget about Aicantar, foolish, young, and hedonistic.

But why? When one's heart fluttered so...how could it ever be wrong? He recalled a statement from his former and secret Breton lover, Faustine Auberjonois. “It's not going to work out, Ondolemar.” She had said with the usual cheeky grin on her vibrant unnaturally purple lips. “I can tell your heart lies elsewhere.”

He had always assumed this was because their values differed substantially. He didn't know what it had meant at the time, but this woman was the last Dragonborn. Surely she had insight far beyond his own machinations. He had enjoyed that tiny shape-shifting woman's company, but nothing about their relationship ever fell into place, looking back on it. Such is life, sometimes. Maybe he read too far into it. However, their relationship reached a close, and he never felt any ounce of regret sharing himself with that woman. He thought about her often, though it could have been because of the sheer amount of influence she had on Skyrim's political affairs. No doubt he still cared deeply for her, and wondered where she'd ended up after defeating Alduin just a couple years prior. Faustine, much like Aicantar, expressed an absurd amount of kindness toward him.

Memories of her plagued him, but not for long, for the thought of Aicantar pushed her into the background. He felt so much differently about him and he wasn't quite sure where he should store those feelings. Showing them was expressly out of the question. And that would prove more difficult than he could ever imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omgosh, I FINALLY revealed the identity to my mysterious Dragonborn OC!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Sensitive traumatic details ahead. I did initially intend for this fic to be more pleasant, but for character developmental purposes this felt like the correct path to take for the time being. I promise it gets better for Ondolemar.

Metal parts and components rattled within his wooden box as Moth gro-Bagol ambled from the forge to the wizard's laboratory. Steam hissed from the intricate pipe systems lining the inner mountain walls. It was a bit of a walk from the private forge to the other side, but the Orc didn't mind running errands for his Altmer associates. Once he arrived at his desitination, he found Calcelmo entranced in thought, reciting writings from the pages of books he had messily splayed open on his desk. It sounded like an Elvish language, though it was beyond foreign to Moth.

“Calcelmo,” rumbled the husky Orsimer blacksmith.

The elf nearly jumped out of his skin, and he scolded him. “Don't sneak up on me like that, you absolute buffoon! You broke my concentration!”

Moth rolled his yellow-green eyes, his lower jaw protruding in a manner that expressed vexation. He was used to this treatment from the old mage by now and thought nothing of it, though it grew tiresome. “I just come to tell you I've brought those parts you wanted me to craft.”

“What? Oh, Aetherius forgive me, Moth. I don't mean to lash out like that. You know how I am when I'm studying.”

The Orc laughed from deep within his belly. “Not to worry, Calcelmo. I understand.”

“If you don't mind taking those to Aicantar in the tower. I don't have the time and he needs them soon.”

The Orc shrugged. It was a bit out of the way in the other direction where he'd have to go to the museum and find his nephew holed up in there somewhere. He grabbed the considerably heavy box full of bronze pieces and made to leave when Calcelmo halted him.

“Oh! Hold on! He's in the restricted area again. Here.” He hastily scratched a note onto a torn shred of parchment and handed it to him so his guards wouldn't hassle him. Moth had been in there a handful of times already. Trust was not an issue as the Orc and his sister Ghorza only cared about smithing and had no interest in sabotaging the work of the wizards.

The guard in the back of the museum gave him no fuss after he saw the familiar scribbled signature of Calcelmo on the paper. The rest of the writing couldn't be made out, but they all did this enough to know it was nothing out of the ordinary. Moth couldn't wait to relieve himself of the hefty box of objects. Aicantar wasn't too diffuclt to find, he just had to follow the sound of clanging metal, electricity, and blasts of steam. When he at last reached the young Altmer mage, he was sweaty, golden hair frazzled, his robes torn, and he cursed at the hind end of a bizarre, now currently disabled construct he'd had his hands buried in to the elbow, though evidence showed that it was previously in hazardous working order.

“Aicantar?”

The young mage, surprised to see someone in his dangerous lab turn up to see him, but then erupted into a smile. “Moth, old friend! What brings you here?”

“Calcelmo is busy as usual so he sent me with the parts you wanted.”

“What? Excellent! You've arrived just in time!” He nearly tripped on his tattered robe as he rushed to collect the box, completely miscalculating how heavy it would be despite knowing better and nearly dropped it. He laughed at his almost-misfortune and plopped the crate onto his stone desk with a thud as the parts jostled inside. He wasn't worried about any of the hard metals breaking or chipping. He sifted through them with his dirty and magick-singed hands to admire his blacksmith friend's craftsmanship. “Oh these are perfect! Right to the tiniest increment! Thank you! What do I owe you?”

Moth shook his head. “My sister—you know how anal she is—took over after some point. Don't worry, she didn't let Tacitus anywhere near these. So the labor is owed to her this time. I'll forgo my portion, but I'll take hers, if you don't mind.”

Aicantar cocked his head, bearing his shiny white teeth in a wide grin. “You're always giving me a discount.”

“If you weren't so damned cute. Not like your grumpy uncle,” Moth winked.

“An Orc of your robust stature and you let your sister do all the work, tisk tisk.” The friends had been close for a long time and their dynamic allowed for them to joke like this frequently. They both laughed.

“I hate to have to shoo you off so suddenly, but my work today is a bit sketchy. I don't want anyone to get hurt again...or killed...again.”

The Orc raised his calloused green-skinned hand to him. “Say no more. I'll leave you to your construction. Or destruction, rather.”

“Get going!” the elf teased.

“Maybe get some dinner with us tonight when you're done? It's been awhile.”

“I'll have to see, Moth. Depends what Uncle Calcelmo wants to get his hands into later.”

Aicantar returned to his weird science experiments and Moth retired back to his forge in the keep. He dug around in the box again to retrieve the cogs, wheels, bolts, joints, and other such things required to repair his faulty construct. He tied his hair back and got to work with his tools to replace the broken components, and found it had been the soul gem the whole time as he discovered the shattered pieces glimmering inside. “Fffffuck!” He hissed. “I'm such an idiot!” Thankful he hadn't managed to end his own life with his machine, he proceeded to correct his mistakes. “Now it should work!” He hopped down from his ladder and raised both his hands, curled his fingers and blasted his own built-from-scratch steam centurion with lightning magicka to give it a burst of life. The eyes glowed as it awakened and Aicantar grabbed a dominion staff of his own make. He waved the metal rod also fixed with a soul gem, a different approach to Dwemer make, in various directions, different reverberations from each action made the machine's body parts respond as the young mage instructed. “Yes! YES! I've done it! I can control it! Uncle Calcelmo _has_ to see this! Igmund must see this! It's groundbreaking!”

The mage knew it would have been to iffy to keep the centurion active during this time. The machine seemed mindless otherwise, so he was safe to hop back onto his ladder and remove the soul gem, the source of power from within. He locked the filled gem away along with the control rod and rushed out of the lab with the excitement and pride of a child. As he burst through the door from the restricted area to the museum, he nearly trampled the guard at the door. “By the gods, young master Aicantar!”

It was as though he wore blinders, for he didn't see anything around him but a tunnel which led back to Calcelmo's lab. In his uncontrollable fit of giddiness, he nearly crashed head on into Ondolemar, who was returning to the keep from a day's patrol within the city. Thankfully, his actions were swift, and he caught Aicantar, and spun him to a halt on the ball of his heel. “Are you all right? Why are you running like you've seen a Sload?!”

“No time to talk! I have to get to my uncle!” He broke free from Ondolemar's arms. Judging by his overjoyed expression, Ondolemar assumed he had nothing to worry about, though it was humorous, and he chuckled to himself as he wiped the machine dust left on him from the mage on his pants. Such passion and intelligence, Ondolemar admired as he traipsed to his office. With any stroke of luck, his guards would not be there, wasting his rations and his time. A moment to himself would be a blessing, he thought. How lucky he was when he pushed open the massive bronze door to find no one, though irritated they hadn't cleaned up after themselves at the table. No respect at all. He cleared away plates and cups of partially consumed food and drink while he pondered any inconvenient way to punish them, and he kicked off his boots, so liberating after tramping on the Dwarven city's hard stone all day. He leaned back on his bed and wondered if the subterranean elves ever appreciated anything comfortable as he had back in Summerset sinking into his lush warm bed stuffed with griffon down, the finest silks caressing his bare golden flesh while the early morning sun woke him with its tender embrace, beside him the skin of a faceless lover lightly stuck to his with light perspiration from snuggling close all night. Divines, how long had it been? The steady cadence of the Orcish blacksmith's hammer on the anvil echoing through the halls hypnotized the captain into a considerably relaxed state, though he did not fall to slumber, his mind took him to a whimsical place that reminded him of home. Ondolemar wasn't so sure he appreciated a visit there, but nonetheless he felt comforted and welcome as his bare feet kissed the thick green grass heated by the springtime sun, and he was not alone, as the being from before took his hand. Their skin was soft, but the grip was masculine, and his eyes trailed from this individual's shimmering bronze gold hand up their arm to meet with the familiar beaming face of Aicantar, glowing from the light of the white hot sun. What would it hurt now to swoop in for a kiss? No one was around to see. He did so without question, imagining how soft his plump lips were, panting as he snaked his arms around his slender waist.

Ondolemar jolted out of this half-sleep, breaking into a light sweat and blood heating him all over, an erection causing discomfort in the tautness of his trousers, heart beating anxiously within and pulsing in his ears. The captain was far too aroused to ignore it and took advantage of finally being completely alone as he eagerly unfastened his pants and deathgripped the blushing head of his penis with a vengeance. Engorged and tingling, there was no give whatsoever to his hardened muscle, which he yanked on aggressively, as he didn't know how much longer he'd have to enjoy pleasuring himself. Every last tug and squeeze built up with tension, grunting and panting until he at last spilled with the mighty force of a volcano, an uncontrollable yelp escaped his lips while his own warm spunk rained down upon his hands, pelvis, and uncovered belly. His heart beat so violently he thought it would give out. After a few deep breaths he relaxed once again falling back into a partial sleep with his semi-erect phallus still resting in his hand. He'd returned to the same place as before, only now it was nightfall, and his lover was nowhere to be found. He was stripped completely naked, and his arms were shackled above him, feet bound together so he could not kick or thrash. For some reason, he could still feel the semen of the waking world drenching his shaft, now dripping to the ground below from where he was suspended and before he'd realized just what atrocity he'd committed, the blunt edge of a mace met with his spine.

The captain awoke with a fright and burst immediately into tears, hyperventilating and desperately cleaning his fingers and genitals of his expulsions with the nearest cloth he could find, anger and shame overtook him like a storm. How could he even fantasize about such a deplorable thing? Congested and with his inconceivable disgust, he vomited into a nearby waste bucket. In a panic, he'd torn off his uniform and in the mirror across the room lit by torchlight he took a good look at the scars and the deviations in his vertebrae to remind himself what a vile creature he was. He wished they'd have killed him then, but this punishment is exactly what he deserved, nothing less.

After a time, he chugged a full pitcher of water as though he'd been parched from wandering a desert in Hammerfell. He'd cleaned himself up as well as he could so as to avoid the bathhouse. He was in no condition to be seen by prying eyes. At least he could blame the defects on his body on the war, but he'd never be able to explain the breakdown, not even to his guards. What was wrong with him? He never allowed himself to stray like this before. “You're weak,” he hissed at himself. “You're nothing but a festering maggot. Have you learned _nothing_?!” That's what he told himself. But a war waged ever on in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this seems rushed. It was only originally supposed to be a quickie, but I have a really hard time writing things with no context. The characters I write about always need a history or a backstory because it's just an OCD thing I'm trying to combat, so I tried to add some context, however brief. But to add some insight, Aicantar and Ondolemar aren't completely clueless to each other's traits and values and they've been in contact with one another at Understone Keep off and on for years. I hope the implication of that comes through all right. Ondolemar is going through a rough patch and Aicantar is too insightful for his own good.

“Astounding! Remarkable!” Calcelmo stood and and raised his glass to his nephew. “To Aicantar, whose mechanical skills are unmatched in all of Tamriel.”

Faleen, Jarl Igmund's Redguard housecarl and partner of Calcelmo slapped Aicantar hard on the back. “Atta boy!” He held back the anguish he felt from the woman's heavy hand.

“Oh Uncle Calcelmo, please!” he gushed. “ I'm no Sotha Sil. It's nothing.”

Ghorza and Moth wasted no time tipping back their mead after smashing their mugs together.

Calcelmo placed his arm around his nephew's shoulder and shook him lovingly. “Nonsense! You've been nothing but a godsend for my research. I'm proud of you, boy. Besides, think of all that extra funding we'll be receiving from Igmund. You impressed a jarl, of all people.” The old elf bent across the table to kiss Faleen.

Aicantar flipped his hair over his shoulder and laughed. The celebration was nice and he certainly was happy, but he couldn't help but feel like someone was missing out as he glanced at Ondolemar sitting alone across the bar, though this time his disposition remained unclear to him, in fact, he really didn't like the uncertainty. It weighed heavy on his heart. He smiled as he stood and addressed his party. “Please excuse me.”

“Where's he going?” Moth asked. Calcelmo knew exactly where, but he respected his nephew's privacy. “Not to worry. He'll be back. How about some more drinks?” He threw a coinpurse down on the table as a distraction and kept his arm wound tightly around Faleen's waist. She was nearly as tall as he was. Calcelmo always did love a strong woman.

Meanwhile, Aicantar approached the forlorn Ondolemar, but startled him when he addressed him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. You just look upset and I'm concerned.”

“It's nothing.” The coarsness in his voice told that he drank too much and he didn't make any effort to look at the mage.

Aicantar didn't dwell on it out of respect. “You know, I made a major breakthrough with my machines. I wanted to tell you all about it, but I haven't seen you since this morning. You're more than welcome to join in the festivities. My uncle is buying all the rounds.”

“That's very kind of you,” Ondolemar mustered a fragile smile, but he looked like he would break down at any moment, and he still refused to look at him. “I shouldn't drink anymore tonight. Important matters to attend to. Thalmor duties, you see.”

Aicantar didn't like the sorrow in his tone. “If you need anything at all, Ondolemar, please don't be afraid to talk to me. Don't suffer alone.” He reached over and placed his hand over the captain's, who retracted at first, but relaxed when he realized it was nothing more than a friendly gesture, but he absorbed the warmth from his touch. There was nothing foul or obscene about it. His heart leapt and he finally turned his poisonous green eyes to look upon him. The younger elf was no longer disheveled and covered in metal and dirt, his robes were neatly arranged and clean. His silken hair was brushed and sleek and the candlelight of the tavern glistened on his delightful golden high elven skin. Everything about him was beautiful, and it made Ondolemar's heart throb, despite everything.

“Don't suffer alone,” Aicantar repeated, before he made to return to his uncle and friends.

It didn't take much convincing on Ondolemar's part. “Aicantar?”

He whipped around, which made his long hair flip over his shoulder.

“I think I'll join you.”

Not having expected him to respond in such away, his expression brightened. The others welcomed him politely, and perhaps they were too liquored up to really care, but it made the captain forget about his issues for a time. While everyone else got drunker, he spent the time speaking with Aicantar, slowly indulging in alcohol now, but still feeling the growing effects. Aicantar imbibed as well. In the background Calcelmo and Faleen were heard giggling frantically like children paying no mind to anything but each other. Aicantar didn't expect to see much of them for the rest of the night based on their behavior, and divines knew his uncle needed it. Moth and Ghorza returned to their lodgings at Understone, and Aicantar and Ondolemar were the among only ones remaining following the departure of the other patrons in the Silver-Blood Inn. The fires were burning hot and perhaps the pair had too much to drink, but Aicantar suggested they go outside for a walk. Ondolemar obliged, for he too desired to retreat from that stuffy tavern.

Aicantar was still coherent enough to handle himself, but Ondolemar seemed tipsy, however he was in a much better mood, and he even smiled. The young elf was glad to help the captain get his mind off whatever ailed him. He couldn't bear to see anyone in pain. They walked for awhile, and the Thalmor captain's happiness grew. At one point they stared into one another's eyes for a long time without a word, intoxication evident in Ondolemar's pulsating pupils.

“Can I see it?” Ondolemar spouted out of the blue somewhat enthusiastically as they looked out over the railing at the waterfall in the distance.

The young mage, who decided he may have actually had one too many, completely misinterpreted his statement. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Your centurion. Will you let me see? I know your uncle is particular about who is allowed in and out of the lab but...do you think maybe?”

He laughed at himself for his foolishness and replied. “I don't see what it will hurt. He's...occupied to say the least.”

The two of them meandered to Understone Keep. Such a funny thing that both of them worked and dwelled in the place. Aicantar fumbled around in the junk in his pockets until he found the key to the Dwemer Museum. Inside, a handful of Markarth guards patrolled. They didn't question it as Aicantar was authorized to be there at any given time. Ondolemar was a bit unsteady, so he'd taken his hand to keep him balanced so as not to risk destruction to any displays, and headed for the restricted section in the back. The guard stepped aside without asking questions, even with his unsual guest. Almost directly to the left was where Aicantar's workshop was situated, messy and riddled with cogs, levers, gears, soul gems, tools, books, parchment, and other such things strewn about without any regard, though everything had its place and the scholar knew exactly where everything belonged. Aicantar unlocked a case and extracted a staff of Dwemer make and lead Ondolemar to an open area, at the center of which stood an enormous humanoid automaton.

“Stand back here with me in case anything goes awry,” Aicantar instructed as he climbed up a ladder with a filled grand soul gem and opened up the back of the centurion and placed it in the center of three prongs so that it was snug and tightened the bolts around it. He hopped down from the ladder and stood by Ondolemar. “Would you like to wake him?”

The captain looked flabbergasted, eyes glassy from the alcohol still raging through his veins. “Are...are you sure?”

“Of course,” Aicantar beamed. “Just a little shock right here is all you need.” He pointed to the location in which he wanted the arc directed. “It will be fine, I promise.”

Reluctantly, he raised his hand, sparks charged in the center of his palm and sent a bright purple arc into the soul gem. Steam shot out out of the exhaust ports instantly, the eyes glowed and it straightened its posture. Naturally, it made him nervous, as the automatons were nothing to toy with.

“Stay where you are,” Aicantar stated gently and he raised the control rod. As he did so, the robotic machine raised its left arm. He cocked the rod ever so gently forward and the centurion lowered its massive metal limb. Then he held the rod vertically and waved it side to side and the centurion took a few steps forward until Aicantar held the rod upright again, then it stood in place.

Ondolemar looked on in childlike awe, still affected by the liquor in his system. “Fascinating...you're...that's incredible. Simply incredible.”

“It's nothing really,” Aicantar blushed. “I'm still working on a feasible use for him. I've come a long way from my work on the Dwemer spider, though. That thing was a mess...I never thought I'd ever get this far.”

“Don't doubt yourself. This is phenomenal,” he spouted. All the ways he could hunt Talos worshippers with such machines danced through his mind, but he kept it to himself, nearly letting it slip but catching himself knowing Aicantar wasn't particularly fond of his crusade.

The young wizard cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. “Well, I guess I should disable him for the night.”

After removing the soul gem again and locking away his dominion rod, he invited Ondolemar to sit with him on his bench, not without clearing away his clutter first, of course.

Aicantar really loved the change in Ondolemar's demeanor after he'd had a few drinks, and he loved the wonderment as he examined objects in the room. At least he was with him and wasn't drinking alone in the bar. Aicantar was still a bit tipsy himself, but pleasantly so. There was really something about Ondolemar that he could sense, but he did not want to act for fear of startling him or making him uncomfortable.  
  
"You're a very nice young man," the captain slurred, which was humorous considering how crisp his words were during sobriety. His hand fell heavily onto Aicantar's knee, which made him blush hotly, but he didn't move it so as not to draw attention to its inappropriateness.  
  
"I wish everyone could behave with such altrusm...ism."  
  
Aicantar giggled at his inability to speak his sophisticated words properly.  
  
Ondolemar's head turned sharply towards him. "You have a beautiful laugh."  
  
"Oh...um.." before he could even react, Ondolemar's lips pressed firmly against his, sweetened from the wine still on them. As much as he wanted to kiss back, he pushed the captain away. "You're still drunk. Are you sure this is what you want?"  
  
"You taste divine," he rasped seductively and made to dive in for another, but Aicantar held his head in place with his hands.  
  
"Not like this. All right? Let's get you back to your quarters. You can sleep it off."  
  
"I'm sorry," his words were pitiful and Aicantar laughed at him warm-heartedly.  
  
"You have nothing to feel sorry for. It's just not right when you're intoxicated, okay? I'm not about to take advantage of you. You're vulnerable. And if I'm not mistaken, a tad bit confused."  
  
The two stood shoulder to shoulder, but Ondolemar weighed heavily as he rested against him. His gait wasn't too awkward on the way out, but it felt as though he grew heavier with each step. He made sure he walked him directly to the Thalmor barracks before leaving his side. "Get some rest, Ondolemar. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Aicantar maintained his happy charm all through the ordeal. If anything, he found it sweet and when he realized what had happened he grew giddy. Ondolemar had actually _kissed_ him. His intuition always preceded him about such matters, but his heart broke for Ondolemar. It pained him to see a man in such conflict over who he was. It should never have been that way. Aicantar always had it easy since his uncle took him away from all of it in Summerset. Whenever Aicantar would ask why they left, Calcelmo always told him the people were no good, and he really believed him, even moreso now. People could talk down on Skyrim all they liked, but Aicantar loved living there, despite the cold. Cyrodiil had been beautiful, but the beckoning call of Skyrim felt like real home. Such a strange and humbling sensation.  
  
After dropping off Ondolemar, Aicantar wandered into the quarters he shared with his uncle with caution, peeking his head around the corner, knowing he might have still been celebrating with his wife Faleen. Thankfully they had been complete in their endeavors. Faleen slept soundly, snoring rather aggressively for a woman and wrapped herself carelessly in the sheets while his uncle sat by the hearth still heedlessly reading through his own journals and scrawlings. He'd heard his nephew sneak in.  
  
"There you are." He was smiling and knew well enough what Aicantar may have been up to. He might not have approved, but he did his best to be happy for him. "How was your night?"  
  
"It's not what you think," he smirked. "However..."  
  
Calcelmo stared a hole in him with his amber eyes and a single brow raised.  
  
"Now don't look at me like that!" Aicantar snickered and kicked off his fur boots. He wasn't worried about disturbing Faleen. She was a heavy sleeper after all. His cheeks hurt from how hard he smiled as he went over the events of the day in his mind. "Ondolemar...well he kissed me."  
  
" _He_ kissed you? My my..."  
  
"I'm just as surprised as you. But he was quite drunk. I dropped him off in the Thalmor's quarters. Uncle Calcemo... he's hurting inside. I can tell. I know we have yet to have a deep conversation but he just feels so sad to me."  
  
Calcelmo sighed from tiredness and crossed his leg over his knee. "Aicantar, you don't need to feel obligated to 'fix' everyone you meet."  
  
"It's not that. I just don't want anyone to feel like that, you know? Such...loneliness."  
  
"You love so fiercely, my boy. An admirable trait, but a burden all the same. Just be careful. Has he said anything about...well, you know what he does for a living.”

“Not a word, Uncle. Of course, I'm sure much of what he does is confidential, but he remained quite casual tonight. I really enjoyed his company.” He had begun to remove articles of clothing and clean up in the wash basin before bed.

“Aicantar, Faleen is present!” Calcelmo scolded.

“Oh Uncle Calcelmo! She sleeps like the dead! She won't see anything. I'll be dressed soon enough.” He grumbled and fussed with tying his hair back so he didn't get it wet. He didn't see his uncle roll his eyes, but he knew he was right. He let it go and continued with their conversation. “So how do you feel right now?”

“I'm not sure what you mean?”

Calcelmo uncrossed his legs and rested his feet flat on the floor. “About how it's going...you know. With Ondolemar.”

His nephew laughed through his nose, while appreciative of the openness of their relationship, it still surprised every time his uncle asked about his status with the men he chased after. “Well...I think there's a chance something might come of it.” His cheeks ached from smiling again, and vertigo surged through his skull from drunkeness. “I suppose I should lie down. Good night, Uncle Calcelmo. Tomorrow's Middas so I should get rested up for the museum tour.”

“Yes indeed, my boy. Good night.”

Ondolemar's head swam after he laid down in bed. His inferiors were already in bed snoozing away and hadn't heard him enter. “What was I thinking drinking like that,” he said aloud softly. After a bout of suffering from the whirlwind that was the ceiling above, his mind began to clear, and Aicantar invaded his thoughts again. “Please,” he begged. “Don't...”

But it was all he could do to forget their lips pressed together, the swelling in his heart, the heat from his knee beneath his hand. Oh what he would have given to slide that same hand further up his thigh. “No...stop it.” He'd bitten his tongue hard to distract himself, wincing and tasting his own blood. “It's _not_ right!” After scolding himself, he'd turned on his side to face the wall. But Aicantar would not cease the haunting of his thoughts, and Ondolemar began to give in. No one could hear his thoughts after all. They'd never know. His fingers wove into Aicantar's and he tried to remember the feeling when he'd touched his hand earlier in the night. It came so naturally...how could it not be the right way to feel in his presence? It had been so many years he'd nearly forgotten the joys of life. But...why did it have to come from Aicantar? It just couldn't _be_.

And yet that lovely face still wouldn't leave him.


	5. Chapter 5

The room smelled of torch soot and dust. Moment by moment, an excess of perspiration formed on Ondolemar's brow as the stuffy room heated more and more. He tore off his coat aggressively and let it lie sloppily on the chair while he signed documents and sifted through envelopes on his desk. He tore through some of the envelopes, only to find nonsense written by his Justiciars, but no real leads. He rolled his eyes and tossed a good many of them in the waste can until he happened upon a unique one with his name scrawled in ornate lettring on the outside. It must have come in with the post the guard brought that morning, as he didn't recall it sitting there the day before. He broke the ordinary wax seal stamped with a wispy letter “A” and opened it, and a small slip glided gracefully like a leaf to the desktop. He picked it up with his leather gloved hand and flipped it over to read the text, discovering that it was an admission ticket to the Dwemer Museum with no expiration. There was a message on the inside of the envelope as well which read:

_Tours start at 4 p.m. sharp every Middas. I really hope to see your smiling face there soon. ~Aicantar_

This gesture made Ondolemar's heart swell and he ended up reading that note many times. It never lost the effect of the first time. He tucked the ticket away in the desk drawer for safe keeping when one of his guards entered. “Captain, sir. Permission to speak?”

“Of course, what is it?”

The guard, adorned in brilliant gold elven armor, straightened his posture with his hands behind his back. “We may have a lead on Talos worship in the city. Shall we conduct a search?”

Ondolemar tidied up his work space, catching a glance of Aicantar's message again, but shook off his giddiness and addressed his guard. “I shall accompany you. It has been a great long while since I've seen any action in this skeever hole of a city.”

“I'm obligated to agree with you, sir. It _is_ a skeever hole. I'll inform the others.”

“I'll meet with you posthaste.”

As the door latched, Ondolemar took a look at Aicantar's note one last time and sighed. Maybe next Middas he'd be able to make it , but combating heresy came first and foremost. Before he joined his troop, he prepared for the bite of the harsh Skyrim winter, thankful for the breath of fresh outdoor air after being cooped up in his office. He couldn't fathom how Calcelmo holed himself up in the ruins all day, let alone how the Dwemer thrived under such deplorable conditions. Skyrim's embrace seemed much more welcoming, in spite of his distaste for anything remotely Nordic.

Down below in the lower portion of Markarth, the Justiciars argued with a city guard.

“Jarl Igmund won't stand for this. You can't just search a citizen's home without a warrant like that.”

“By permission of the Empire and of the Aldmeri Dominion, we are wholly authorized to eradicate the worship of the false god Talos. Your Jarl is compliant in his relations with the Empire.”

“This is outrageous, you knife-eared bastards!” shouted the town guard and Ondolemar's inferior drew his sword, resting the point against the man's throat.

“You _will_ comply, wretch, or we'll arrest you for insubordination. It's already suspicious enough that you defend such an abhorrent act.”

Ondolemar stepped in. They needn't escalate the situation or draw attention. “That will be all. Stand down, soldier.”

He lowered his weapon and the town's officer began to tremble and sob. “Please...don't do this.”

It was then that he realized it was this particular town guard's own private residence. “Unlock the door, citizen, or we'll break it down,” the captain demanded in a low and malicious tone. “I have no desire to vandalize your home.” It was over and this Markarth guard knew it as he complied unwillingly, tears dripped from beneath his helmet and the Thalmor officers stormed his home, looking for the evidence they would inevitably find, and they did with much ease, for there was a meager shrine resting loud and proud upon the hearth with candles shamelessly alight. Ondolemar's voice dropped to a vicious rumble. “Arrest him. Take him straight to Cidhna Mine. We'll do what we need to do with him later."  
  
"Yes, Captain." The Justiciars bound the now helpless sobbing man's hands and feet. He put up a struggle, but the elves were too large even for a husky Nord. "No! Please! I've done nothing wrong!"  
  
The commotion drew the attention of Aicantar even from the top window of the tower, though the waterfall nearby deafened any possibility of hearing what the screams below entailed. The only thing he could see were two golden-clad Altmer dragging away a thrashing town guard, which made his stomach churn as his green-gold eyes panned the entire rocky area for Ondolemar. To his relief, he didn't see the captain anywhere, and he hoped in his heart of hearts that this was merely the Thalmor Justiciars happening upon carelessly open Talos worship. What a pity...  
  
"Aicantar, you look quite ill," Calcemo took notice of how quiet his nephew was in his corner of the room.  
  
He swallowed hard, trying to cull that nagging desire to vomit. "The Thalmor just hauled off a city guard," he said hopelessly.  
  
Calcemo clicked his tongue sympathetically, but said nothing more, instead made up something to distract the young mer from the menace that was the Thalmor. "Aicantar...I can't seem to read my own handwriting again on this journal entry. Perhaps you might be able to decipher it?"  
  
Aicantar sighed in annoyance. "It's not in the Falmer tongue again, is it?"  
  
"Well...yes it might just be." The old wizard scratched at his flax colored beard coyly.  
  
"For crying out loud, I can make out regular characters, but it's much more difficult to read your scribbles in another text entirely."  
  
It made Calcemo laugh. At least the boy was distracted enough. He already knew what the convenient document said, but it was written sloppily enough for a believable alibi.  
  
Aicantar scratched away on a blank parchment with clean, feminine handwriting, cheeks deeply dimpled from his smile while he teased his uncle. "Now I know how excited you get, but please learn to write more legibly."  
  
"Of course. So how is your centurion coming along?"  
  
He had begun organizing the disaster that was his uncle's desk. Even he had a point where enough was enough as far as clutter. "I don't think he's safe enough for an exhibit, but overall he's coming along very nicely. Better safe than sorry."  
  
"Yes yes, we've lost too many great researchers and excavators this way. And overly curious guards."  
  
"Don't remind me."  
  
"It was an accident, Aicantar. Not your fault at all. They are well aware of the hazard to start with and they shouldn't have taken it lightly."  
  
"I know, but still."  
  
The mages chattered for a time while they worked, but Aicantar's mind fixed on the Thalmor again while he tinkered. "I can't believe Igmund tolerates that in this city. Divines' sakes, they're all Nords here. What do they expect?"  
  
"Zealotry is a plague, my boy."  
  
Aicantar snickered. "You're a zealot."  
  
"Oh you know what I mean!" He rolled his amber eyes.  
  
"I'm just teasing. But no...I really fear for that man who was taken away today, when his devotion to his hero is so objectively harmless."  
  
He was forced to get his nephew's mind off it again. "Yes indeed, Aicantar. Now let's get things arranged for the tour this evening. We only have a handful of hours to prepare."  
  
It hurt the young elf's heart not to discuss it further, but he complied with Calcemo without a fuss. "All right then."

***

Ondolemar damn near fell asleep during his briefing with Elenwen. All he knew was that she was keeping him from his plans. Every moment or so, he glanced desperately at the clock as four o'clock drew ever nearer. Aicantar had been on his mind all day against his better judgement, but he derived so much joy from him that he couldn't resist seeing him. And how rude would it be not to accept the invitation? That, and the thought of a tour at the museum genuinely intrigued him.

“Did you not get enough beauty rest last night, Captain?” Elenwen tucked her wavy blonde hair over her pointed, erect ears, eyes like a sabre cat piercing through him hotly. It was unlike Ondolemar to lack alertness when she spoke. Her sharp tone startled him from his daydream.

“Apologies, my lady. I haven't been feeling well as of late.”

The Ambassador still sounded somewhat annoyed, but responded with false sympathy, “Well, we're only mer. We've all been there. However, I expect more from someone of your rank. You are dismissed.” She handed him a stack of dossiers and other such forms on his way out. The Thalmor and their damned documentation. There seemed to be more paperwork than anything. He had a great deal of respect for Elenwen, but he couldn't wait for her to leave the city. Thankfully, she didn't visit in person often, only enough to keep up appearances. She would be long gone by day's end. He “filed” his documents carelessly atop his desk, thanking the Divines he was just a short walk away from where he truly wanted to be. As much as he loved punctuality, he would have to be a few minutes late as he wanted to change out of his uniform. The doorman to the Dwemer Museum still accepted his ticket without any issues.

Once inside, he joined a group of patrons while Calcelmo gave them an introduction. Aicantar fiddled with objects just behind his uncle, and waved wildly when he saw Ondolemar had wandered in to join the group, as he towered over everyone. The enthusiastic greeting made him unable to contain a smile, his chiseled cheeks reddened. Aicantar also hadn't expected his guest so soon, and was genuinely chuffed by his attendance. What a delight. He would have to put on his charm for this evening's exhibit.  
  
Calcelmo droned on about facts about the Dwarves, briefly mentioned Sotha Sil who managed to wake up some of the children interested in the former living god's secret Clockwork City which was very much inspired by the Dwemer's tonal architecture. Perhaps the old mer demigod may have even perfected it in his time before his murder. Even the Dunmer's rich history intrigued Ondolemar, especially when they had still been the Chimer thousands of years ago before Azura's curse, all of which somehow tied in to the mass extinction or general disappearance of the Dwemer. No one really knew for certain what became of them, if they had died out or gone elsewhere. Calcelmo was hell-bent on his theory that they'd ascended to another plane of existence...bold considering the Dwemer frowned upon using magic.  
  
Calcelmo went on to describe the Falmer, the blind danger infesting the depths even below the very city itself, which terrified those same children inspired by Seht, but he did manage to assure them the twisted elves remained below and rarely wandered outside the comfort of their subterranean home. Once a noble race, the Dwemer deceived them, poisoned them, and now they have become feral creatures terrorizing the deep.  
  
Aicantar had warned once about how boring an orator Calcelmo could be, and Ondolemar yawned in spite of himself, though the information truly interested him. Calcelmo, dull as he was, was the best man to relay these facts even still. The scholars didn't mind at all, for the information was valuable to them all the same, some of them were even taking notes during his presentation.  
  
But it was Aicantar who kept the general public coming, for he was a showman. His flair and gusto entertained his guests while Calcelmo informed, and together they educated students and enthusiasts from all over Tamriel. There were children of varying ages, both men and mer, who clearly already visited the museum as the younger ones clung to their parents' hands, tugging at the hems of their shirts and hopping like eager bunnies. The preteens and teens, though they tried to suppress their childlike excitement, let some of their enthusiasm slip through the cracks. Aicantar new exactly how to appease their hungry little stares. Calcelmo could go on all day about steam pistons and ancient history, but only one thing put their entire audience on the edge of their seats.  
  
With a stroke of magic, the lighting dimmed in the entire facility, and Aicantar held a ball of light within his hand which casted an ominous shadow over his pronounced elven facial features. Some of the children tucked away behind their parent's legs, but the older ones who had something to prove, gulped and remained still as corpses.  
  
"What do you think of spiders?" he asked them.  
  
"They're yucky!" spouted one small Nord girl.  
  
"They're scary!" peeped a much younger Dunmer boy, who hid behind his teenage brother.  
  
"Oh my yes, dreadful things," Aicantar exaggerated his disgust for theatrical effect. "But what if we could use spiders to perform tasks to make our lives just a bit easier?" With a flourish, his mage light went out and it fell dark for a moment. The children who didn't know what they were in for tensed in anticipation, and the children who had already attended a museum tour a dozen times before bounced eagerly on their toes while Aicantar returned the light to its original state and pulled his dominion staff from within his robes. Ondolemar crossed his arms and cocked his head with a cheeky grin, wondering just what Aicantar was about to do, for he'd already seen the glory of the Dwarven Centurion, but what of the meager spider?  
  
The faceted gem on the end of the staff glowed, and Aicantar waved it with a flourish. It wasn't necessary to be so dramatic, as often times wizardry involved a certain mysticism, but it set the children on edge, even the skeptical older ones with something to prove. A housing in the wall opened a valve cover with a futuristic "pssshhhh" and a clang of heavy metal, and from within emerged two spindly legs of Dwarven bronze, which revealed the rest of the body as it pulled itself out. Its movements were as bizarre as a real spider, if not moreso, and it crab-walked towards the group of tourists. They were distracted, but Ondolemar kept his eyes on Aicantar and observed his subtle movements that commanded his robotic creature.  
  
The children who hadn't attended before backed up against their parents in fright.  
  
"You needn't be afraid, children," Aicantar spoke soothingly. "This is a Dwemer Spider Worker which I've rebuilt from the ground up with my very own hands. Their purpose is to repair the mechanisms inside the ruins, which is why they still function independently to this very day. We're still not certain how they know what to do, but might have something to do with the soul gem inside that powers them, like a tiny brain. As you may know, there are other makes of spider used as a security system. They attack trespassers with electricity...which also happens to be a specialty of mine." He winked in the general direction of the Thalmor captain, and something about that gesture swelled Ondolemar's heart, and he found himself a bit weak in the knees. Thankfully he stood behind everyone so they didn't see him buckle.  
  
"But _my_ spider is special," he continued. "These little guys have operated without the interference of man, mer, or beastfolk for a few thousand years, but this one heeds my every command." Aicantar raised the wand above his head, and the spider stretched its long legs and stood long and tall, pivoting what would be considered its head like a bird in all directions as if it had eyes to see its company. The motion made some of the children jump, but they giggled when they saw the creature wasn't a threat. It was actually cute in its own peculiar way.  
  
"What a luxury it would be to live like the Deep Elves where everything is automated and all tasks are performed for you with a simple wave of a wand. And to think they created all this _without_ magicka, for they believed magic to be antiquated. Could any of you imagine living in Tamriel without the convenience of magic?"  
  
The children and even the parents shook their heads in response. Magic was everything, from using telekinesis to pick up the shoe they'd lost under the bed or starting fires with their hands to keep warm. Even chilling their ale on a hot summer day, the Dwemer needed none, for they had everything. "Fascinating, isn't it?"  
  
The passion the young wizard spoke with pleased Ondolemar. He found his cheeks were sore from smiling and unseasonably warm. The joy that glinted from Aicantar's gorgeous almond shaped eyes and the deeply carved dimples in his cheeks could have melted all the snow on High Hrothgar. He had no business being that beautiful...  
  
The Dwarven spider danced a brief jig and pranced back to its home in the wall, going in the same way it came out. Now onto the next mechanical creature on display which was disabled, a mere shell rebuilt for exhibition purposes, and Aicantar took a moment to explain it and its purpose. The Dwarven Sphere had a humanoid body and head, various weapons for arms and rolled on a structure that gave it its namesake. Some of the children already familiar began a dance of anticipation for what was to come, for he lead the group to a caged area.  
  
"Stay far back for your safety," the golden mer instructed sternly, and the parents of the children held them by the shoulders to keep them contained, smaller children with their fingers in their mouths for security. Aicantar used his wand to summon two Dwarven Spheres and issued incomplex commands and the automatons began to fight one another automatically, battering one another with their sword arms. Aicantar had disabled the crossbows so a stray bolt wouldn't injure anyone after he'd find out from one of his own mishaps while experimenting in his tower.  
  
The children laughed and cheered for whichever Sphere they'd chosen to win as their families stood by in shock and awe.  
  
Soon one of the machines eventually blew apart shooting machine parts and gears in all directions. Ondolemar looked disconcerted knowing how hard Aicantar worked on his machines. The mer managed to sneak up beside him during the fray of children arguing about why their Sphere was the best.  
  
"Not to worry," he said only loud enough for the captain to hear. "I've redesigned them to break away like that. I'll have them back together in a matter of minutes."  
  
Part of the young elf desired to plant a quick kiss on the captain's cheek, but he refrained and returned to his exhibit to show the children the rest of his mechanical monstrosities and gadgets.  
  
Ondolemar became hot under the collar yet again. He tried so hard to contain it but there was nothing he could do to stifle it. For the rest of the tour, his eyes remained on Aicantar and he didn't want to avert his gaze. His grace was entertaining enough for him.  
  
The end of the tour was bittersweet, for Ondolemar truly enjoyed the presentation, even Calcelmo's dull droning, but parting from Aicantar's company proved more difficult than he ever imagined. Afterwards, Aicantar thanked the children and gave them souvenirs to take home. On the way out the door, they could be heard begging their parents to go again next week. The captain stayed behind to praise his host.  
  
"I was so glad to see you here," Aicantar said warmly to him. "I didn't expect to."  
  
"I had some free time for once, so I seized the opportunity." He was nervous. Why on Nirn was he so nervous? "I learned quite a bit from your presentation."  
  
"I'm so thankful." His gem-like gold-green eyes glowed in the torchlight, brightening the entire museum with his presence.  
  
Ondolemar debated on whether he should go back to his quarters or stay, but he knew what he desired, and the more he desired it, the more ashamed he felt, however he didn't care, for he couldn't remember the last time anyone's mere presence filled him with such joy. In his sea of bliss, he forgot his words, and stood there somewhat awkwardly before he decided it was better not to make a complete fool of himself. He began to wish the young mer a pleasant evening when he cut him off with a question. "Would you like to get dinner with me?"  
  
Ondolemar choked on his own saliva. So much for not making an ass of himself.  
  
Aicantar thought it may have been out of line. "If you don't want to, it's perfectly fine..."  
  
"Um, no. Well yes! I was on my way to the inn anyway." A fire burned in his nerves all over his body so intensely he wished to scratch.  
  
The youthful Altmer's smile stretched from ear to pointed ear on his gilded face, and he didn't care who noticed. "You go on ahead. I'll meet you in a few minutes."  
  
_What are you thinking?_ The captain questioned himself. _You shouldn't be doing this... it's wrong. It's all wrong....but he's so sweet. After all, it's just dinner. There's no harm in that. It doesn't mean anything. Men dine together all the time._ He made his way to the Silver-Blood Inn to wait for him despite his conflict. He didn't wish to be rude, after all.  
  
"And just what are you grinning so cheekily about?" Calcemo crossed his arms while Aicantar washed his face and hands in the basin.

"I'm having dinner with Ondolemar soon."  
  
Calcemo rolled his eyes behind his nephew's back, but he was happy for him anyway. "Does he know it's more than just a friendly meet up?" The old mer teased.  
  
"Oh Uncle Calcemo, please...I mean I certainly hope it ends up being more, of course, but I don't want to prey upon him, for Auriel's sake."  
  
"You think it will?" Calcemo questioned.  
  
"I...I'm not sure. His body language says otherwise but...well you know. 'Traditional' Altmer and what not."  
  
Calcelmo walked up beside him as he brushed his hair in the mirror and placed his arm around his shoulder. "You never know. Skyrim changes people. In the event he turns you down, just keep and open mind. I mean there's always Vorstag..."  
  
Aicantar grimaced and scoffed in utter repulsion. "No thank you. That was a one off and we were both drunker than scamps. Besides that, he didn't bathe as frequently as he should have. And listen to you. You don't even like mercenaries."  
  
The wizard shrugged and scratched at his beard. "Anyone is better than the Thalmor."  
  
"Uncle!"  
  
"Alright alright. No need to get testy. Go on your date before he thinks you stood him up."  
  
"It's not a date!"  
  
"Sure, whatever semantics you want to use, my boy. Now go, before I need you for something.”

Aicantar hurried down the jagged mountain pathway to reach the inn and found Ondolemar with a seat saved especially for him. He had to push through the happy hour crowd just to reach him. “All that work just for something to eat.” He was still just as cheerful as ever. The barmaid took their orders, and Ondolemar held a judgmental absinthe-green eye upon him, but all in good humor as Aicantar requested wine to drink again.

“I promise to behave myself this time,” he chuckled. “Only if you do though.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now,” Aicantar adjusted his seat for comfort. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but you looked like you had a wealth of fun today at the museum.”

Ondolemar responded swiftly without even a thought. “It was incredible. Your machines are extraordinary. I can't thank you enough for your hospitality. And the free ticket, of course.”

He giggled proudly. “Of course! Only one time though. The next time you have to pay. Uncle Calcelmo said so.”

The pair laughed and simultaneously took a nervous sip of their drinks. The dynamic at dinner seemed different this time and both struggled with conversation, and for some reason Aicantar couldn't maintain eye contact with him. He didn't want to make him uneasy, but at the same time, he gave away his own feelings. After the barmaid brought them their meals, they remained somewhat quiet as they ate, only to catch each other staring and turn away multiple times. Aicantar finally decided it was time to bring it to light. “It's not the fact that you know I like you, is it?”

Ondolemar had been grinding his teeth unknowingly and unclenched his jaw. The butterflies he'd been feeling periodically over the course of the last few days came back in full force this time. It was much too real now. He rested his fist under his nose while he thought of the words he wanted to say, “Well...yes.”

His companion didn't give him the chance to fully complete his statement. “We can just stop it now if it makes you uncomfortable. I won't bother you again. I didn't want my feelings to get in the way of our friendship but I can't control them. Perhaps it's for the best...”

“No, no Aicantar. Listen,” he interrupted. “Please don't misunderstand. I've been...” his throat tightened and it was difficult to swallow. “I...you see...”

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he speak? His heartbeat pounded within his skull. “I like you too!” The words escaped his lips with such a vengeance even he slapped his own hand to his mouth. And the young elf had no idea how to take what he'd heard, nor was he certain if he'd heard correctly at all. “What?”

It was as if he'd stumbled down a hill and couldn't stop rolling. “You're all I think about. I can't do my work, I just keep looking for any excuse to be around you. It is what it is I just can't...I don't know what to do with these emotions.”

“Ondolemar...” Aicantar's expression became a mixture of incredulity and optimism and the only thing he could think to do in the moment was reach for his hand. He withdrew at first, but he enjoyed the warmth of his touch so much, he relaxed and let it happen, and even though it felt freeing to do so, he looked around as if someone would come to punish him. But nothing happened.

“Ondolemar,” Aicantar said again, and he squeezed. “It's perfectly acceptable to act upon those emotions if we like one another. There's nothing wrong with you.”

Could he read his mind?

Should he do it? Aicantar debated in his mind for a few minutes, but the twisting in his gut got the better of him as he bent over the table to hover just before Ondolemar's lips, so close he could feel his breath, giving him a moment to back away if it wasn't want he wanted to do, but when he didn't, he took it as an invitation and pressed his mouth against him gingerly. His hand quivered, but Aicantar squeezed it lightly again, letting him know he was safe with him. Ondolemar gave in to his yearnings at last.

And they kissed. Oh how they kissed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh it's getting steamy!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Alert:
> 
> Content Warning: Self Harm

Aicantar's lips tasted sweeter than honey, addictive, soft like velvet and just the perfect amount of moist, cool at first from the wintery draft blowing through the inn, but warmed up quickly. Ondolemar's heart thumped in his throat. Out of breath and panting, he freed himself from Aicantar's spell and stared with panic as if he'd performed an inexcusable act, though he felt comfort with Aicantar's nose just barely brushing the tip of his own.  
  
"You don't have to worry," he consoled. "No one is going to hurt you."  
  
The words were so distant to him, Ondolemar could not discern if he'd spoken those words to him or if he imagined them as the lines between reality and his suppression blurred. But what he knew for certain was the touch of Aicantar as he curled his long fingers around the nape of his neck and stroked his bristly cropped hair and rested his brow against his. It was so unexpectedly loving that Ondolemar almost lost himself entirely in the affection.  
  
"Is this okay?" he asked him delicately and could feel Ondolemar's light affirmative nod against his head.  
  
Panic suddenly overtook the captain yet again and he leaned back in his chair quickly as a sort of fight or flight reflex caught hold of him. He cleared his throat and took a hefty swig of his drink.  
  
Sensing his unease, Aicantar made a request. "Perhaps this setting is too public. Would you like to go somewhere less crowded?"  
  
"I...well..."  
  
"I know what you're thinking, but that's not what I'm talking about. We can just kiss...or we don't even have to do that. We can just talk. Come on.” The mage tossed an uncounted and generous handful of coins onto the table to tip the barmaid and took Ondolemar's arm. “I know a place we can be alone.”

Ondolemar panned the room to see who was looking at them and to his surprise no one gave a damn, even with Aicantar's hand in his as he herded him though the hustle and bustle to the door. A wintery gust nipped at them before slamming and silencing the commotion of the tavern and leaving it in the past. A snowfall, gentle by Skyrim standards, landed delicately on their heads, and they both turned up their hoods to stay dry. Aicantar took Ondolemar by the hand yet again and escorted him to a hidden place behind the waterfall that cascaded from way up above Calcelmo's tower. Such an ideal spot for romance. The mist from the water drifted the other way so there was no fear of getting wet and freezing, and situated against the mountain was a bench. Torchlight from a nearby lamp refracted just enough to illuminate the nook like a cozy little room, and no one could see inside, and it was surprisingly quiet within to boot. Though Ondolemar wished it was warmer, giving Aicantar the perfect excuse to scooch right up against him. “Now where were we?” Aicantar spoke alluringly. He rubbed his hand up the side of Ondolemar's cheek. It made the elder elf smile, and the solitude set his mind at ease. Much better than the crowded noisy tavern. He caressed Aicantar's hand and held it against him, turning to place a kiss on his palm. “I never thought I could feel this way. Not for anyone. But you...”

Aicantar chuckled, over the moons with the way this situation began to pan out and nuzzled into Ondolemar's neck, placing many pecks with his cold, winter-kissed lips, making the mer's blood surge throughout his body.

“Aicantar...” he sighed with otherworldly delight. It was just like his fantasy.

The young mage tingled at the sound of his own name spoken so sensually. It had been a long time since he'd ravished anyone so.

The delightful sensations all throughout his body soon made Ondolemar force his guilt far into the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and absorbed every subtle thing Aicantar did, every tickle from a stray strand of hair, the brush of flesh against flesh, his wine-tinged breath, forearms crossed behind him and resting lazily on his shoulders while he rubbed the back of his head. Ondolemar's hands slipped into the curve of his partner's waist just beneath his robes like his body was designed for them and his bodily heat welcomed them there.The femininity of Aicantar's tender kisses and the contrast of his rough, calloused mechanic hands sent chills all over Ondolemar's body, though he was plagued by his ineptitude of what he should be doing with his own hands as they rested coyly atop his partner's hip bones.  
  
"You're breathtaking," Aicantar's whisper slithered into his long elven ear making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He wished to say the same, but the words never found their exit while he absorbed all the attention.  
  
"May I touch you?" Aicantar requested considerately. He had no desire to cross any unauthorized boundaries.  
  
Ondolemar's head swam as he teetered on the brink of lustful intoxication. He didn't care. In the moment he truly wanted this to happen and pushed his hangups into the background, taking a moment to observe the superiorly bred mer against him. Altmer were true perfection, especially this divine creature who graced him with his zeal. "Of course," he growled hoarsely.  
  
This answer gratified his young lover, and he was both careful and eager about the path of his hand, creeping like ivy over the inside of Ondolemar's muscular thigh right up to the bend, and he curled his fingers and rested there, observing the erratic changes in his pulse beneath his fingertips. He loved to tease.  
  
A precious gasp escaped Ondolemar and Aicantar proceeded to caress his inner thigh while stealing a much more aggressive kiss from him, slipping him the tongue and tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. Whenever he backed away momentarily to observe his rapture, Ondolemar gaped at him and like a starved beast he'd throw himself back, the precise response Aicantar loved. The chemicals breaching Ondolemar's system caused him to laugh awkwardly. He enjoyed this far too much. Aicantar's hand maintained the same distance from his genitals the entire time out of respect, but before he could even ask, Ondolemar moved his hand for him and he compressed his fingers around the outline of his unrelenting erection. The ideal girth and length aroused him as he squeezed it.  
  
Aicantar sighed sensually through his nose and spoke through a kiss. "I didn't expect you to be so eager right away." He hummed like Ondolemar was a delectable dessert, nuzzling him and enjoying the masculine feel of his beard and stubble on his skin.  
  
Ondolemar could feel his release of preejaculate cooled from the winter air on the inside of his undergarments and it somehow turned him on more.  
  
"Let me know if this gets too much for you," Aicantar stroked the length of his cock. He'd have preferred skin to skin since his hands had gotten so cold, but he remained within the captain's realm of comfort. Ideas of what he wished to do to him followed one right after another and did not do him any favors, but he tried like hell to behave, which proved damn next to impossible from the sounds and expressions Ondolemar made as he touched him. "By the divines," he sighed, but he gained no solace from it. "Fuck..."  
  
That utterance disturbed Ondolemar in the best possible way, and he writhed beneath him. He hadn't realized how tense and still he'd remained until he shifted his weight.  
  
"Everything all right?" Aicantar had to reassure.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Aicantar stood to stretch as well. "Do what you need to get comfortable." His joints cracked from the chill in the air, and when he came back to him he straddled him on the bench with his knees on either side, his pelvis pressed against Ondolemar's abdomen and he could feel his rock-hard erection. Aicantar just needed a little bit of weight and friction, for his own sexual appetite had gotten the better of him. The way he knelt gave him height on the captain, and something about the subtle display of dominance turned Ondolemar on even more. His shaft ached and throbbed inside the taut fabric of his pants.  
  
It was much too hopeful, but if Ondolemar gave him permission, he would have ravaged him right there behind that waterfall. To Oblivion with the cold of winter, or if passers by heard their grunting, for there was a fire raging within him. The meager amount of grinding against him was more than sustainable, however. He embraced his lover and held him against his throat, stroking his head. Ondolemar snuck kisses onto his neck and he could no longer withstand the burning of lust in his loins and rocked against the captain ever so gently. It's all the stimulation he needed to sate his desire. "Gods damn," he panted and spoke to no one in particular. "It has been _far_ too long..." He took Ondolemar's face in his hands and made out with him until he could not tolerate the lack of release any longer, and curled his hips and in just a handful of pumps spilled suddenly and to his own surprise inside his smalls, "Oh my gods...fuck..." he sighed with every spurt he milked from the subtlest of movements, the stitching in the crotch of his trousers held tight enough to give him perfect stimulation. Ondolemar knew exactly what happened based on his uncontrollable body spasms, and something about making someone come without laying a hand on them boosted his ego.  
  
Aicantar snickered from the mixture of carnal ecstasy and embarrassment while his mind became clear. "Gods above, I am so sorry."  
  
Ondolemar genuinely didn't mind it at all, despite his conflict. The fact his presence satiated someone in such a way made him forget himself. "Please don't apologize. Kiss me."  
  
"As much as I'd love to stay and kiss you all night, I can only endure for awhile longer," the young mer beamed and then lowered his voice because he was ashamed. "But I came excessively more than usual and I'm going to require a change of pants..."  
  
Why did such a personal statement make Ondolemar's heart jump? It was like the unfiltered intimacy level of those betrothed, where all boundaries were gone.  
  
And Aicantar seemed so disappointed in himself and whined playfully. "But I've been so selfish. I can finish you off if you like." And oh how he wanted to. Badly. Just a taste...  
  
However, Ondolemar wasn't quite sure he was ready to take another step, though he smiled wide. "Perhaps another time, Aicantar. It's...all so much for me to take in presently."  
  
He didn't mind. "Of course."  
  
"Please kiss me just a few moments more," he begged. He almost felt like a teenager experiencing first love. In some kind of way, Aicantar was a first for him.  
  
"I'll do anything you ask of me. " The mage swooped in and obliged. Though it wasn't long before he burst into a fit of laughter regarding his predicament. "I'm sorry, darling. I can't stay any longer. It's turning into an icicle."  
  
It was one of the more bizarre things Ondolemar had ever heard, and he laughed too from the sheer absurdity, but it was too funny. "Fair enough. Let's go home."  
  
Aicantar left him at the door to the Thalmor lodgings and bid him a quick goodbye, though he kept smooching him. It was so difficult to part from him.  
  
"Go on, hurry." Ondolemar chuckled.  
  
Aicantar walked briskly, and ran into his uncle along the way, who'd caught a glimpse at the end of their departure.  
  
"Well well well," he crossed his arms, a villainous grin slapped upon his face.  
  
Aicantar blushed redder than a comberry. "Oh um...listen. Give me just a few moments of privacy to freshen up and I'll fill you in."  
  
Calcelmo didn't want to know and shooed him away. He waited outside of their quarters until his nephew deemed it safe to return. Calcelmo, though interested in his the evening his nephew had, could do without the details. Sometimes he forgot he wasn't a little boy anymore. But he loved him dearly and wanted to be someone he could confide in for as long as he lived, which meant all the uncomfortable stuff too. “Come on then. Tell me. How did it go...?”

***

  
  
Ondolemar had been concealing his still-raging erection under his coat. He needed a release desperately and the Thalmor quarters just weren't private enough for him. With the way the winter air chilled him to the bone, he had an idea. Back to the Silver-Blood Inn with him. Most of the patrons had gone home at last. He hadn't realized how late it was. Kleppr was still awake cleaning up the mess of the day and arguing with his children and wife as per usual. Kleppr wasn't fond of the Thalmor, but remained as respectful as possible. Ondolemar slid a generous few septims across the counter. “I'd like to use the bathing facilities please. If at all possible, I wish to be alone.”

“I think you'll be all right this late at night. Everyone is too drunk to bathe.”

Ondolemar nodded curtly. “My thanks.”

Kleppr's son surprised him when he entered the bathhouse.

“Oh forgive me. I didn't know anyone was coming in. I was just cleaning. I'll leave you be.”

He was a good lad for a Nord. He reminded Ondolemar of himself when he was young, always working hard and aiming to please with nothing to show for it while everyone nitpicked the things that were wrong instead of appreciating the things that were right. He sighed. And he noticed that he'd calmed a bit from his earlier shenanigans. It didn't take long for Aicantar to sneak back into his thoughts again, though. The erection that subsided returned with a vengeance. Ondolemar heated his bath water with magic from his very own hands. He had no time to waste waiting for a fire. He couldn't figure out why the Nords abhorred the use of spells when they made life so much simpler. “Damn this Skyrim weather,” he muttered to himself. His old bones ached something fierce from the chill. Aicantar helped him to ignore the cold, but he wouldn't mind visiting that spot again when spring arrived.

Is that how it would always be? Hiding behind a waterfall and engaging in inappropriate acts for a cheap thrill? Or would they walk hand in hand in broad daylight? No...it couldn't be that way. It could never be that way, he thought. He gritted his teeth and grasped his shaft. He masturbated vigorously until he emptied into a towel. He didn't even enjoy it. He just wanted it to go away. When he was done, that shame took hold once more.

Heart beating from panic, he slid into the bath water and winced, for he'd made it nearly boiling. Anything to feel clean again. And he wept. No one ever treated him with the same dignity Aicantar bestowed upon him. Caring and thoughtful was he. He called himself selfish, but that young mer was far from it. Ondolelmar hadn't expected their night to escalate from kissing to heavy petting. He hated himself for liking it so much. Aicantar, such a pure and emotional being. No pain at all...far more than the captain deserved. Vile wretch. Defying the gods and nature. It should not be this way. He would pay for his transgression. Ondolemar reached into the pocket of his leather coat lying on the floor beside the bathing pool and he removed an elven dagger, golden and sharp just like its makers. In one swift motion, he'd laid open his wrist vertically with the sharp blade, his dripping blood bloomed in the water and he admired the crimson specatcle before closing his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Aicantar stayed up quite late speaking with his uncle. As per the natural order of things regarding a parental figure, their conversations evolved to all sorts of memories. The pair were so busy with their Dwemer activities they sometimes neglected their duties as a family and this was the perfect opportunity to catch up and reminisce all while appreciating the present and hoping for a fond future. Even though Calcelmo didn't care for the likes of Ondolemar, his nephew's happiness mattered more to him than anything after the life he's had. It was a long time since he saw the lad so happy about another living creature after he holed himself up in solitude to build machines. As much as he loved the solitary lifestyle, he knew it wasn't the healthiest situation for Aicantar.  
  
Calcelmo yawned when their conversation reached a lull. "I think I'm going to get ready for bed, my boy."  
  
"I'm right there with you," Aicantar spoke through a yawn. The exhaustion made itself plain on his face. Calcelmo was just about to climb in bed when a loud rapping in their chamber door startled them and then the person welcomed themself inside. The intruder was Faleen, and her expression was dire.  
  
"What's wrong, my love?"  
  
"Calcemo, the guard said your assistance is required in the bathhouse at the inn."  
  
"I'll come with you," Aicantar sat up, and Faleen shook her head wildly at Calcelmo, piercing him with her feral hazel eyes. He understood.  
  
"No, no Aicantar. You need your rest. You've more than earned it. I'll be back."  
  
After the bronze Dwarven door latched behind him, he hustled to catch up to his briskly walking wife.  
  
"Sweetheart, what on Nirn is going on?" He inquired with gentle concern. He had a hunch of what he was about to find.  
  
"You'd best see it with your own eyes."  
  
The inn swarmed with a handful of Markarth guards and Thalmor soldiers. Jarl Igmund sat nearby, head in hand and a look of stress as he spoke with one of the Justiciars and Kleppr. Other guards and a Thalmor agent questioned Cosnach, a regular and well-known hellion at the bar.  
  
"I dunno," he said gruffly. "I wandered into the bathhouse to take a leak. I didn't even make it to the latrine. In fact, I think I pissed myself when I saw all the blood, and then I saw the elf in the midst of it. That's all I know. Don't shoot the messenger! I found him this way and I did what I was supposed to do and reported it. I called Kleppr, he called you. Now, get off my back!"  
  
Calcelmo didn't need to ask anymore questions about who this entailed if Igmund was there too. He pushed passed some individuals and stormed right into the bathhouse and gasped at what he discovered. Ondolemar had been pulled from the bathing pool and covered with a wool blanket. Over him stood Brother Verulus, the priest of Arkay, and Bothela, a Reachwoman from the apothecary still in her night gown as she was summoned from her slumber. She tried to pour a potion into him while Verulus used his meager healing skills.  
  
"I can't believe this son of a bitch is still alive after that," grumbled the old woman with an ornately tattooed face. By all accounts, the woman was a witch, but she always meant well.  
  
Ondolemar, now sickly pale yellow from the blood loss instead of his usual vibrant gold, laid completely still on the floor. If Calcelmo didn't know better, he'd have said he'd been dead for days. Bad feelings wrenched at his gut. He dropped to his knees beside the elf right away to administer aid. "What happened?"  
  
Verulus answered him while Bothela spooned concoctions into the unconscious mer's mouth. "Looks like he did this to himself, Calcelmo." He lifted his wrist. They'd stopped the bleeding but the cut was deep. Only a master level wizard could help now.  
  
"Gods above, Ondolemar," he whispered pitifully and he took his laid open arm and from within his own hands a warm glow emitted from them while ribbons of white and gold danced up and down this fallen captain's body. The wound sealed more, but he'd hoped it might give him enough vitality to cause him to stir, even just a little bit. "Do you have honey, Bothela? Get sweets into his system. It will help."  
  
"I'm already on it," the alchemist's wrinkled hands pulled a jar from her satchel.  
  
Verulus focused his own healing magic around Ondolemar's head. Hopefully his brain hadn't starved from the lack of oxygen in his system.  
  
Calcelmo laid his ear on Ondolemar's chest to listen to his heart. There were far too many seconds between beats. He warned the other two to stand clear and he placed his hands directly onto his bare chest. "Blessed Auriel, I hope this works." His hands crackled and arced and he shot a blast of shock directly into Ondolemar's heart and listened again. He'd thought all hope was lost, but his heart began pumping rapidly from the literal shock and the inevitable blast of adrenaline from the trauma. He listened to his heart until it fell back into a normal pattern and lingered to be sure it maintained a healthy pace. Now only time would tell.  
  
There was no logical use trying to transport this large being back to Understone, and Calcelmo didn't want to risk Aicantar seeing him like this. Kleppr offered a vacant room to allow for the captain to recover. They didn't have to like each other, but no one deserved to die like this.  
  
One by one, everyone cleared out. The guards and Justiciars wrote their reports and left first, then Bothela and Verulus after they made sure Ondolemar no longer required their medical attention. The Jarl sat at Ondolemar's side and pondered what he should do. Whether the elf lived or died, it needed to be reported to Elenwen and quite possibly to the Imperial ambassador due to the contracts of the White-Gold Concordat. A dead Thalmor in his city looked bad, but a suicidal captain looked even worse. He'd rather have been a person about the matter, but the incident in and of itself became political. He figured he'd decide when—if—the Altmer ever came to. He thanked his court wizard for the assistance and went home to do his best to sleep. Only Faleen and Calcelmo remained at the bedside of the Captain of the Thalmor.  
  
"Are you going to tell Aicantar what happened?" She gripped tightly to her husband's hand.  
  
He shook his head. "If worse comes to worst, then I must. As of now, I believe Ondolemar is going to make a fine recovery. It's his business. I'll leave it up to him to decide what parts of himself he opens to the world."  
  
Following a few moments of silent gawking, Faleen told the mage what she thought he needed to hear in that moment. "I love you, Calcelmo. You're a good man. I'm so glad I married you." She placed a tender kiss on his lips, and he brushed one of her many ebony braids behind her ear. He pulled back to admire the beauty of her battle-scarred cinnamon skin and dark hazel eyes. "I'm glad too."  
  
She forced a smile. "You go back home to deal with Aicantar. Igmund wants me to keep an eye on Ondolemar tonight. I'll alert you of any changes in his status."  
  
"Oh...yes my love. Thank you." Such a noble and dutiful woman was she, and Calcelmo fell in love with her over and over again. A graceful and terrible being who stole his heart. A real woman.  
  
Calcelmo prayed to the Divines and even the Daedra that Aicantar would be asleep when he returned, but no such luck. Anxiety kept the young man wakeful, and he interrogated his uncle right away. He regretted not thinking of a lie to tell him on the way to the keep and had to come up with something on the fly.  
  
"What happened? Is everything all right?"  
  
"Hmm? Oh yes yes. Quite stable now. One of the beggars came into the inn hopped up on moon sugar. Made a mess of himself. We had to calm him down."  
  
"Oh..." Aicantar couldn't help but sound disappointed, but he bought the story and questioned no further. He might have suspected that he made it up, but perhaps tiredness got the better of him.  
  
"Well I'm glad everything is all right. I think the peace of mind will help me sleep." He fluffed his pillow, but it wasn't nearly enough to make the stone bed any cozier to sleep on.  
  
"Good night, my boy. I love you."  
  
Aicantar rolled back over to look at him with his brow scrunched in confusion. Calcelmo never said that unless something bothered him. Perhaps the old man was finally losing his wits in his elder years. "I love you too, Uncle Calcemo."  
  
When dawn broke, Calcelmo made sure he woke before his nephew. He made his rounds to inform everyone he saw not to bring up Ondolemar and not to say anything about him if Aicantar inquired about him. The whole place knew the lad was fond of him, even the Justiciars and they were compliant with Calcelmo's request. "We'll tell him he's on a mission." They may not have particularly liked their superior, but they could respect orders. And after what happened, even they were shaken up by the events, especially since he was their highest commander.  
  
Calcelmo rushed to the Silver-Blood Inn to check up on Ondolemar's status. When he entered the room, Faleen was fast asleep in her chair. She must have stayed up all night. He woke her and told her to go home, that he'd handle it from there.  
  
Kleppr's wife brushed passed the open door and Calcelmo asked if they could bring him soup, but she'd already gone by. Kleppr could be heard from the main dining area. "What did Calcelmo say he needed?" And she screamed back from the hall. "SOUP! HE WANTS SOUP YOU DEAF OLD IMPOTENT GEEZER!"  
  
"There's no need for the attitude, you wretched bitch!" Kleppr clapped back.  
  
Calcelmo rolled his eyes. Thankfully it was Kleppr's young daughter who brought in the serving tray. At least the children maintained their civility.  
  
"Thank you my dear." He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry they act that way all the time. You're better than that."  
  
"It's okay," she shrugged with a shy smile. "I just ignore it."  
  
"Good girl. When you're able, you and your brother get away from that. It's not good for you."  
  
"Thank you, sir." The girl left him to care for the slumbering Altmer in the bed. Calcelmo was pleased to see his color had returned to him and he examined his lacerated wrist. Nothing but a scar now. Upon further observation, he noticed hints of more vertical scars just like it. He felt nothing but pity for this being. "What has this world done to you?" He also checked up on his chest. His lightning magicka caused some minor burns on the skin, but nothing he wouldn't heal from, though he'd certainly be feeling the effects for awhile. He slipped his arms under his armpits and boosted him in the bed, so he could attempt to feed him the broth from the soup. He wouldn't dare try anything solid until he was fully cognizant. He held the spoon to his lips, and Ondolemar did sense him there, for they responded to the stimulus and twitched. It appeared that he tried to form words. Amid the meaningless dreamy babble, one word fell very clearly on Calcelmo's ears. "Aicantar."  
  
Even in his subconscious, he pined for him. Calcelmo chuckled warmly. Ondolemar would be fine. He tried to rouse him by lightly shaking his shoulder, and to Calcelmo's pleasure he stirred, eyelids opened sluggisy and drowsily and he took a moment to familiarize with his new surroundings. When his mind cleared, he knew where he was, but was startled to see Calcelmo seated beside him.  
  
"What's going on?" His throat was raspy from sleep.  
  
"You made an attempt on your own life. Had the others not been around to respond, I might never have been able to revive you."  
  
He remembered, and upon this remembrance, he felt more shame. Shame for his weakness and pain. And even moreso that he failed to do the job yet again.  
  
Calcelmo got up to to close the door and slid the soup tray over his lap. "Here. Are you all right to use your hands?"  
  
Ondolemar cleared the phlegm from his throat before speaking. "I'll be fine."  
  
"Eat. You need to build up your strength."  
  
"Who discovered me?" He asked coldly in between sips from the spoon.  
  
"Cosnach."  
  
After reality settled in, Ondolemar became well aware of the repercussions, and he dreaded it. He'd hope it would not affect his prestigious rank among the Thalmor regime. He tucked it away into the back of his mind. A visage of Aicantar invaded yet again, and he worried.  
  
Calcelmo seemed to have read him well, judging by the anxious look on his face. "Aicantar doesn't know about this. Out of respect for you and to protect his delicate sensibilities. After the lovely evening you had—that he spoke very highly of, mind you—I can't fathom why this would be the outcome."  
  
It was almost teasing, with a hint of scathing, and it was his way of letting Ondolemar that who he was was no secret to him, but even though it should have been obvious, he was appalled he knew anything at all.  
  
"He _told_ you?"  
  
Calcelmo looked at him like he had two heads and bull horns. "Of course he did. He's my nephew. He's the closest thing to a son I'll ever have and our relationship is open and honest. He tells me everything."  
  
The tips of Ondolemar's ears burned red, and Calcelmo laughed. He was just glad to see any vibrant color on the elf after the previous night. Ondolemar didn't know what to say and he ceased consumption of his soup.  
  
"No need to feel embarrassed. I have been with that boy from the very second his head crowned. Believe me, I _know_ him. His values, his interests, his... _orientation_.” The emphasis on the word disturbed Ondolemar. "I've been right along beside him for every love, every difficult parting, every predicament...those exploratory teen years were the most unbearable hell I've ever had the displeasure to endure. And from very young he always expressed his interest in males."  
  
Ondolemar inhaled deeply, but he had nothing to comment on.  
  
"You should have heard his enthusiasm. He can't wait to go out with you again."  
  
The captain's heart beat viciously. He was very much alive.  
  
"Seems to be a strange reaction to being unconditionally loved by someone. Killing yourself in response to very healthy and positive emotions is peculiar, don't you think? Whatever has been done to you Ondolemar...those people were the broken ones. Not you. I don't think there's anyway to fix the trauma you've endured but...I've experienced all of it vicariously through my nephew, and I did my best to be there for him. You don't know how much it pains me that you didn't have anyone there for you...to treat you like the normal, loving, healthy elven being that I _know_ you are."  
  
_You don't know me at all..._  
  
Ondolemar closed his eyes for a moment and trembled on the verge of tears, but nothing came. "Calcemo...please."  
  
Calcelmo cocked his head. It looked like he was getting somewhere with him after all. When Ondolemar looked upon him, he caught nuances of Aicantar's own mannerisms in his body language. Even the family resemblance made itself known from the shape of his long High Elven face and his sleek hair of flax. Had his eye color matched, he may have seen a glimpse into Aicantar's future. "You raised him?" The hints Calcemo dropped piqued his curiosity.  
  
"From his first drawn breath until this very moment," Calcemo confirmed. "Like my own. My sister passed away giving birth to him, his father perished before he was born. I'm all he has."  
  
Ondolemar couldn't stroke Calcelmo's ego by revealing what he really thought of him. Aicantar was perfect in every way, and he didn't want to believe his uncle's influence played any part in it, but to have a bond so close, so trusting. It was unheard of.  
  
Calcelmo left behind his own life story and continued his therapy session. "I don't like what you do...but I do generally like you as a person. I mean...maybe it's too late for you, but I might be able to offer the guidance I've once given him. And to be frank, if you pull anything like this again and risk breaking Aicantar's heart, I'll kill you myself with my bare fucking hands."  
  
There was no evidence of jest nor seriousness in his threat and Ondolemar couldn't figure out how to interpret it. He held his toxic gaze on Aicantar's uncle.  
  
"Anyway, eat your soup before it gets cold and make sure you hydrate. Rest up for a few days here. You're going to need it. Igmund already took care of payment for your lodgings. I'll keep him occupied for the time being, as well as distract Aicantar to the best of my ability. The rest is up to you."  
  
The elderly mer's knees creaked when he stood. Even the way he cracked his neck and rolled his stiff shoulders screamed Aicantar. Ondolemar stopped him as he turned to leave.  
  
"Calcemo...you owe me nothing but...thank you."  
  
He understood and nodded. "You couldn't have wanted to die that badly if you're still here, no? Also, if you want to be close to Aicantar—and I suspect you very much do—you need to be completely honest with yourself." Those were his final words before he left Ondolemar to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *protective elf dad mode engage*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the Eight! This wasn't supposed to get this serious! It was only supposed to be smutty. Why am I like this? XD

Days came and went and Ondolemar felt much better. Well enough to return to his duties, anyway, if Igmund was so inclined. However, dread seeped through his veins like snake venom. Jarl Igmund was respectful enough to allow him time to recover, but matters could not wait to be addressed.  
  
And Aicantar...Ondolemar couldn't prioritize correctly anymore, for the visage of that angel of an elf interrupted his train of thought constantly. He wondered how he would behave when they finally crossed paths again, and he grew anxious.  
  
He noticed his clothing now clean and folded neatly on the dresser, the same clothes he'd been wearing before his nearly deadly bath. Whoever took care of them possessed great knowledge in caring for leather, for it shined and was much more pliable and softer than ever before, but still tough as raw hide. It must have been the young lady Hroki, he thought. Kleppr's daughter. Ondolemar only grew suspicious when she'd bring him food, all too eager to do so, but Kleppr and his wife Frabbi were far too busy arguing to tend to him, so she took charge since he couldn't currently leave the room. The way she batted her eyelashes and blushed whenever he spoke. A lovely girl for a Nord, but still very much too young to be even remotely interesting.  
  
"Hreinn and I cleaned your blood in the bathhouse...I'm glad you're okay." She bowed her head in a bashful manner.  
  
"Of course, my dear. Thank you. I'm very sorry to have put you through that." Maybe the Nords weren't so bad after all.  
  
Hroki lingered a bit longer in his room than he was comfortable with in his vulnerable state. The captain pulled the blanket over his bare chest feeling utterly exposed and he wondered just how much of himself this girl may have seen of him in hindsight.  
  
Her hands flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry! I don't mean to gawk... you're just very handsome."  
  
He grinned at the compliment despite himself. A Nord attracted to an Altmer. He considered it an act of rebellion on the girl's part, only to do the unthinkable to spite her parents. But she did take good care of him during his stay and he thanked her for her kind hospitality and how his Thalmor uniform coat never looked better. His kind words to her made her blush. When she had gone he finished his breakfast and decided it was time at last to face the music. Better to get it done and over with and accept the consequences.  
  
He washed in the basin and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Even though he'd utilized this period of recovery mainly for much needed sleep, he looked run down with bags under his eyes. "My age is beginning to show," he said to himself with an exasperated breath. His many scars decorated his flesh front and back like a road map of pain*, and reality settled in once more for him. Maybe hatred and malice really wasn't the normal way of the world. Even though it was all he knew from as far back as he could remember, he still found trouble fully accepting it. Calcelmo's assessment of him had been far too accurate. Was he just insightful, or was Ondolemar too telling of his traumatic past without even realizing? The old mer shrugged it off and dressed with care, smoothing out the hard leather of his coat, now very pleasant to the touch and much less squeaky. Jarl Igmund would be expecting to meet with him at some point very soon. It was time and he could delay no longer.  
  
He carried himself as though floating in a dream cloud, detached and cold—literally cold as a blizzard began dumping snow early that morning. Fresh snow crunched beneath his boots and hardly anyone was outside save for the workers from the smelter and the beggar Degaine, drunk as always and complaining about the women at the Dibellan temple.

“Come on you Dominion dog! I know your pockets are jingling! You've got more septims than you know what to do with!”

Normally Ondolemar would respond to his heckling, but he wasn't in the mood and continued walking. A hard packed snowball thwapped the back of his head and he paused in anger, considering wringing the old loser's neck, but he gathered himself and trudged through the ever deepening snow back to Understone Keep to handle his affairs. The wind whipped cold snowflakes and stung his eyes and cheeks. What he would have given to be back on a beach in Summerset at that very moment to soak up the loving warmth of the sun, or to sit on the sun-kissed stone stairs in Cloudrest. Needless to say, the fond memory still didn't make him any warmer.

The temperature inside Understone Keep wasn't much better, but at least it was dry. Before meeting with Igmund, he checked in with his Justiciars, who remained silent as the grave when he entered the Thalmor office. Ondolemar didn't speak upon entry either, and went about his day as normal like nothing ever happened. After issuing a few commands to them while he still had the authority too, he headed for Igmund's court. Part of him prayed for a distraction, but none came on this dreary winter's day.

Faleen met him at the entrance of the throne room, both astounded and impressed by his recovery. He didn't know she had seen him on the brink of death. She spoke not a peep to him and respectfully stood aside for him to pass. Jarl Igmund, who'd been flapping his dog's ears jumped from his slouched seat on the throne like something bit him on the ass, both pleased and appalled that the Altmer lived. “Captain,” he nodded as respectfully as his own emotions permitted.

“My Jarl,” Ondolemar bowed halfheartedly. In his mind, he owed no Nord leader of Skyrim any allegiance.

They both understood. “Meet me in my quarters, Ondolemar,” the Jarl spoke scathingly. He gestured toward the old man sitting at his side Raerek, both his steward as well as his uncle, to follow. As the door latched, Igmund took a deep breath not knowing where he should even begin, as he didn't wish to be entirely insensitive to the mer and his plight, but this predicament very well could have been a serious strike against his relationship with the Imperials as well as the Aldmeri Dominion.

“I must preface that I'm pleased you are now in good health. I'm more than aware that you're technically higher on the food chain than me under most circumstances, but that stunt you pulled changes everything.” His animosity quickly made itself evident.

Ondolemar did his best to hold his tongue and address the issue. “Perhaps we may reach an understanding.”

“Understanding?” Igmund barked. “What kind of understanding? Ondolemar, you've clearly demonstrated that you're mentally unstable. You shouldn't even be leading those people if you're _bloodletting_ like you are, let alone advising me on political matters! This is _huge_! How easy would it be for me to call upon Elenwen and have you removed from my city? And surely you'd be knocked down a few pegs if she doesn't have you locked away in some asylum in Summerset somewhere! This negatively affects _my_ relationship with the Empire. _My_ reputation is on the line here.”

“IGMUND! That will be quite enough,” Raerek roared. “There is no use tearing the man apart like this. Dignity and respect.”

“Dignity and respect for what, Uncle? A deranged Aldmeri dog in my court? I won't stand for that. I only allow the Thalmor here because the Empire wishes it, and nothing more, but as long as he continues to terrorize people in the Reach, I have the authority. Just what we need to add to the mix of these fascist bastards.”

Ondolemar would no longer stand for it and encroached on Igmund's personal space, towering over him. “You will hold your forked tongue, _Jarl_ Igmund,” he hissed.

Igmund bared his teeth. “You don't frighten me, you knife-eared prick. I tolerate you here because I have to, but nothing more. Given the circumstances, I believe I've been quite hospitable to allow someone into my hold who throws my own guards in the mines over a measly statue and some candles.”

Ondolemar narrowed his toxic green gaze. “And why is that? Do you have something to hide from me, Igmund? I can assure you that what the Dominion will do to you for unsolicited Talos worship will be far worse than any punishment I may receive.”

Igmund raised his fist, but he did not dare hit him, and let his arm flop unsatisfied to his side. “You would have the gall to threaten me in my own keep?”

The Captain's angular lips twitched into a vindictive smirk. “Not unless you're keeping a deep, dark secret from me.”

Raerek intervened, voice cracking. “Gods above, will you two stop it already! You're acting like children. Let us stop thinking of ourselves and get this settled before you both end up in exile, or worse yet, the chopping block.”

As much as he wanted to flatten Ondolemar's smug pointed nose, Igmund backed down, and that was all the evidence the elf required to sway this in his favor. “What would you have me do?”

“My actions do not leave Markarth.”

“No. I can't do that, Ondolemar. Who's to say your bootlickers won't say anything to Elenwen themselves? Come up with something else.”

He crossed his arms tightly. “Or what? It would be so easy for me to search this room right now. Is _that_ a hidden compartment in your wardrobe? What a convenient place for a Jarl to conceal his blashphemy...”

Each of his footfalls clacked on the stone floor as he ominously neared the wardrobe, keeping him on edge with every slow and deliberate step, and Igmund's nerves got the better of him, even though in his heart he knew it gave everything away. “Wait! Stop...I won't report what happened. Just...get the fuck out of my chambers!”

Raerek's jaw dropped in astonishment, and even the old advisor couldn't mediate this predicament. Ondolemar earned a victory, and the perfect ammunition for further possible blackmail. As much as the mer despised breaking the rules for his own gain, it needed to be this way. He could not lose his position, he could not lose his crusade...and he could not lose Aicantar.

“Get out! I said get the fuck _out_!” repeated the Jarl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *a small tribute to the late Alexi Laiho, may he rest in peace.


End file.
